To Know That You're Mine
by coloursflyaway
Summary: Bucky wants to sleep with Steve, who thinks that HYDRA used him for completely different things than killing as well. Could also be titled "Five times Bucky wants to sleep with Steve, and the one time it works."


The first time, they are both on Steve's too soft bed, in his too unfamiliar flat in a town which is still too big, too loud, too confusing city, eyes locked and Steve's fingers resting on Bucky's pulse point. It seems to be important for the other nowadays to just touch him, feel warm skin and a beating heart, and Bucky doesn't mind it at all, because he, too, needs to touch Steve. The other man is the only thing which grounds him here and not in that killing machine's head after all.

And even now, when he has only a handful of memories back (most of them just fragments, really, just the sound of laughter or the feeling of snow, the way sunshine bounces off blonde hair), it's easy to see why; the other has never looked at him with anything but affection. Which makes it easy to do the same, at least as soon as the buzz HYDRA has left in his head has faded enough to allow him to feel anything at all.  
It seems to make Steve happy, but then again, almost everything seems to do that, no matter if Bucky smiles or talks or uses the other's name; it makes him happy yet Steve seems to never have expected anything like it to happen. He wouldn't have told Bucky anything about them, if he hadn't remembered parts of it and asked for the rest of their story, he knows that as well as he knows the colour of the other's eyes by now; the thought is as touching as it is painful. Because he knows that while he did forget about the other, them, Steve never did, always carried Bucky's memory with him, and would have carried all that love with him, too, hidden and locked away for the rest of his life.

But he didn't, and Bucky forces himself to remember that, he didn't because Bucky did remember and remembers more every day, even if he won't ever be the Bucky Barnes Steve would deserve, the one he lost, he'll try to get as close as possible. And Steve, kind, understanding, patient Steve, has never expected more than that from him.

It's Steve who drags him back to now, just like he does so often. "Bucky? Everything alright?"  
Like always, there is a hint of worry in the other's voice, worry Bucky would like to make disappear forever but doesn't know how to; but at least for a little while, he can. "Just fine. I was just thinking…"  
The answer doesn't seem to quite satisfy Steve, so he adds a smile, reaches up to cover the other's hand with his own, feeling the muscles relax under his touch. "Really, it's all alright. My head, it doesn't…" Bucky stops for a moment, tries to find the right words, "It doesn't always work the way I want it to."

Steve raises an eyebrow, and Bucky expects a lecture, about why nothing is wrong with him at all, but instead the other just uses his hand to pull him closer, turning Bucky's head left, then right. "Seems fine to me", Steve mutters, a twinkle in his eyes Bucky has only seen a couple of times in the weeks he's been here. "A bit empty maybe, but that's nothing new."  
Steve looks like he was made out of sunshine and starlight, bright and happy, and although Bucky knows he should have a better comeback, he cannot bring himself to think of something. "Well, you should know all about that, huh?", he says, and then just leans in and brings their lips together, kisses the other softly.

It's the way all of their kisses have been up until now, soft and careful, and Bucky likes them, likes the way they leave Steve's lips a little pinker, his eyes happier. But sometimes, when it's late at night and the other is asleep in the bed next to him (Bucky insists on not sharing one, too afraid of what his nightmares might make him do), he wonders how other kisses would feel, how Steve would look when he'd fall apart beneath him.  
He wants to know it just like he wants to know every other thing about the other, every detail he had once remembered but they took away from him and a thousand new ones. So he kisses Steve a little more deeply, licks at the other's lips; Steve tenses for a second, but opens his mouth for Bucky nonetheless, lets him in. It's different, but it's good, almost better, and before he knows it, Bucky is pulling Steve in, his still despised metal hand coming up to touch the other's chest as he pulls back only to kiss Steve again, a smile on his lips and a growing heat in his stomach.

Their kisses are still gentle, because Bucky is not sure if he knows anything else yet, but traded with more purpose, a hint more force from what he hopes are both their sides. He likes it, likes the way Steve seems to relax under his touch, how his tongue responds and teaches Bucky's just how to move; it seems that he has forgotten so much more things than he actually expected.  
But Steve is as kind a teacher as a human being, and it only takes a minute, maybe two until they are moving against each other easily.  
The other sighs into Bucky's mouth, and the sound is soft but still sends a jolt of pleasure through him, because it's him who makes Steve feel like this, feel good, and that is something he hadn't thought himself capable of a few months ago.

Without thinking too much about anything but making Steve happy, drawing more sounds from his lips, getting closer and closer to the other, Bucky lets his mechanical hand slide down, passing over hard muscles, warm skin he knows is there but cannot feel. It feels like something he has done a hundred times before, almost like a memory he is making again, and the next kiss grows a little bit more passionate, still. Or maybe just the next part of the one before; Bucky doesn't know where one kiss ends and the next begins anymore.

His hand slides down further still, over Steve's stomach and hips, only hesitates for a moment before Bucky presses the palm against the other's cock, finding it half hard. It's an intoxicating feeling (he has done this, Bucky thinks and his heart swells in his chest), although it's still only metal against heated flesh. A smile starts curling his lips upwards, and Bucky wants to say something, to suggest sitting up so that he can see Steve, can watch him, but suddenly, the other pulls away, far too quickly in contrast to their slow kisses.  
There is something akin to horror written all over his face, maybe shame, and Bucky doesn't understand.

"God, Buck, I'm sorry, I shouldn't- this shouldn't- I'm so sorry." And Steve gets up without giving Bucky the chance to ask what is happening and why, if he has one something wrong, can only watch Steve flee the room and close the door behind him.

Bucky doesn't try anything for two weeks, but it's hard, because he keeps looking at Steve and remembers the taste of his lips, the way their kisses felt so natural, so right. He still hasn't gotten even close to enough memories back - even if they sometimes return to him, in groups of alone – but he could make new ones instead, wants to. With Steve.  
But maybe he was moving too fast for the other, who has mourned him for so many years, has thought him dead, so Bucky tries to give him time. Gives him time until some kind of mission goes wrong (Bucky doesn't ask, because he can't think of missions without thinking of guns without thinking about ice), and Steve comes home with his suit torn and a myriad of marks on his tanned skin. For a moment, Bucky catches himself thinking that it should only be him who leaves marks on the other, the thought more familiar than it should be, but then it is washed away by worry, by fear because he could have _lost_ the other. Could have run out of time.

He doesn't even give Steve enough time to explain before he has pressed the other against the wall, their bodies flush against each other and Bucky's lips on the other man's. It's a kiss which feels completely different to the ones they usually share, hotter, fiercer, and Bucky thinks that it might be blood he is tasting on Steve's lips.  
The thought makes him growl helplessly, hands, both metal and flesh, clutch at Steve's clothes, roam over his chest and pull him closer. Steve responds with slightly less passion, but Bucky can taste the fear on his lips too, only that he is not sure if it's himself Steve fears for, or Bucky.

"Don't you are even thinking about doing that again", Bucky hisses out and kisses him again, makes teeth clash and lips move together gracelessly; finesse is something for another time, he needs to feel Steve is still alive right now, nothing more, nothing less. And Steve nods against him, no quick, witty comment only a strangled, "Promise, I promise, I won't."  
It's enough and Bucky vows that he will find a way to get out there again, if only to be at Steve's side again. To protect him, like he always should have.  
"You better." It's the last words he can offer before he loses himself in Steve's mouth again, feels strong arms snaking around him and pulling him close; maybe Steve never thought he'd be able to do that again. It's a terrifying thought.

One hand, the living one, finds the side of the other's neck and stays there, feels warmth and a pulse, tilts Steve's head so that he can kiss him more deeply, lick into his mouth until the heat in his stomach is rekindled, sparks and tingling across his skin and tendrils of it wrapping around his heart, his limbs until they have covered him completely. He's getting hard, Bucky knows it, his body searching for yet another way of confirming Steve is alive, and maybe he should stop, give Steve even more time, but he can't bring himself to. Especially not when the other shifts his body, moves his hips until they are pressed together, and Bucky can feel that Steve's cock is hardening too.

The next move is pure instinct, a memory his brain has not quite recovered, but his body remembers well; he falls to his knees, making hardly a sound, hands on Steve's hips. He needs to taste him, to hear him make those sounds Bucky can remember so well, but instead of his palm, it's his cheek he presses against the growing bulge in Steve's torn pants, nuzzles it and feels the hint of warmth even the thick fabric cannot conceal. It's perfect, everything he needs, but only for a moment.  
Because hands find his shoulders and push Bucky back, make him look up at Steve's face, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with fear.

It's a kind of fear Bucky does not recognise, and he wants to ask just what it is Steve is so afraid of, what he can do to make it better, but there is no time; words stream from the other's lips, not making sense and yet sounding desperate. Steve is out of the room before Bucky can even get up again.

It becomes more and more normal, them sharing a bed instead of falling asleep in different ones, and Bucky loves it. Not only because it feels like half a memory as well, but because being close to Steve feels good, waking up next to him does, going to sleep with those blue eyes watching, does too. Nightmares still come, but they are less intense, only leave him shaking and not thrashing around anymore, and although Bucky doesn't know, he still holds Steve responsible for that. He just feels better when he is around the other.

When he tells Steve that, the other man smiles a smile which puts the sun to shame, makes Bucky's heart grow twice as large. He's almost certain that it's Steve who keeps the nightmares away after that.  
Sometimes, though, sometimes the nightmares do not come at all, because Bucky cannot sleep. It's the nights he likes most, even if he would never admit that, not because he cannot bear the dreams, but because at night, asleep, Steve is unable to hide a thing from him; so Bucky spends hours upon hours of watching him, touching him, learning everything about him once again.

It's a night like that again, and the strange alarm clock Steve has next to his bed tells him it's shortly after three in the morning when Bucky looks at it. There are the faint sounds of cars and people outside, but apart from that, everything is quiet, only their breathing to stir the air.  
Bucky reaches out and touches a fingertip to the other's forehead, right between his eyebrows, where he can usually count the worry lines; now, the skin is smooth and warm, and Bucky lets his finger trail down over the bridge of Steve's nose. He keeps the touch light so he won't wake the other man, even if it's hard when he wants nothing more than to kiss Steve awake.

Instead, he lets his finger trace the outline of the other's lips, pink and soft (and something inside him tells him that this is the way they always were, even when Steve was so much more delicate, so much frailer.)The touch is still soft, but it seems to be a little too much, because Steve shifts and parts his lips slightly; Bucky holds his breath.  
But he doesn't wake, only moves close, moves one arm across Bucky's torso in a half hug, mutters something he cannot understand.

It's sweet, and Bucky feels himself smiling, body shifting on its own volition so he can fit himself against Steve better, face burying in the crook of the other's neck. And that would most likely be enough to make him fall asleep after all, but his thigh brushes against Steve's crotch, and the other makes a sound, soft and still needy; it's a sound Bucky recognises immediately. He should move away, he knows it, but it's impossible, instead he presses his thigh a little harder against Steve's hardening cock, holds it there and feels the other's hips move, roll into the touch. It's not exactly what he always wanted, but it's close enough.

Again, he moves his thigh, rubs it against Steve's erection, makes him moan, and can feel how his own cock gets interested, hardening in the pyjama pants he borrowed from the other. He could make him come like this, Bucky thinks and the thought is both dangerous and tempting. Destroys everything, too, because it makes him increase the pressure just slightly too much, wakes Steve up. Slowly, at first, and Bucky is watching, holding his breath, while the other man's eyes flutter open, a lazy smile spreading across his face when he notices how close they are.

A smile, which turns into a surprised, shocked, terrified expression when he feels Bucky's thigh half between his own, his cock rubbing against the muscle with every breath. There are no words, just a scared gasp, before Steve pushes himself up, hair sticking up in every direction.  
This time, it's Bucky who is quicker with his words. "Sorry, I shouldn't have, I'm-" _Stupid, I just wanted to feel you_, he wants to add, but Steve doesn't let him.  
"No, no, not your fault, I'm so sorry, Bucky, this should never happened", he interrupts, a quiet desperation in his eyes which make Bucky hurt all over. "This was a mistake, the beds – I mean the bed, we should have two beds- I'll sleep on the couch; _I'm so sorry…"  
_And once again, he is gone before Bucky can ask what all this is supposed to mean.

A few days pass and there is a tension between them Bucky has never felt before. He doesn't like it, it feels wrong because they are supposed to laugh and smile, to joke and trade sweet, gentle kisses; but while Bucky still sees all the good in the world when he looks at Steve, he isn't sure what the other sees in him when he looks back.  
It grows easier after a week, though, and Bucky is eternally grateful, even if it hurts to think that while Steve likes being with him and throwing popcorn at him when they are watching a movie, likes waking up next to him, he even closes the door before he changes his shirt. It's not as if Bucky wouldn't understand it; he's done terrible, horrible things, which would give a hundred reasons for not wanting to touch him, but Steve has always gone out of his way to make sure that Bucky doesn't feel dirty for what they made him do.  
Still, having Steve like this, even when he could never touch him more than a hand on the other's chest, his chin propped up on the other's shoulder, is a thousand times more than Bucky would deserve, so he takes it.

It's two or three weeks after that last incident, and it's night again, or rather, morning; there are the first rays of light peeking through the windows, and a few, valiant birds chirping, and Bucky awakens because Steve sighs. A soft sound, nothing pained, which is the reason why Bucky doesn't turn around and look just what is wrong, it's longing but pleased. There is another sound too, a rusting of sheets and laboured breathing, there is the drag of skin against skin, slick because some liquid caught between hand and… it takes another fifteen seconds until Bucky realises just what he is listening to.

A wave of lust rolls over him, almost makes him gasp; Steve is pleasuring himself and Bucky wants nothing more but to see, to watch. But he can't, because Steve doesn't want him to, otherwise he would not wait to a time like this, and even if it wasn't the middle of night, Steve still wouldn't want him. Because Steve doesn't want him, not like this.  
Which hurts and means that he should try not to listen, try to fall asleep again, but when he closes his eyes again, it just gets worse, the sighs and little moans Steve is making sounding even louder; heat is spreading through his body and Bucky just wants to touch.  
His living hand clenches until he can feel the nails digging into his skin (he does not dare to move the metal one, afraid of the sounds it might make) his teeth finding his lower lip and just biting down to give himself something else to concentrate on, anything else which is not the way Steve sounds like this and how much Bucky wants to be the reason for it.

But then…oh God, but then, Steve moans, as if he could not help himself, a low, sweet sound, and not just that, a name too. Bucky's name.  
And suddenly, he cannot stop himself, because maybe all of this was just a misunderstanding, maybe Steve wants him after all. Without wasting another moment, Bucky turns around, lips parted and eyes wide, turns and faces Steve and never wants to look away again.

In his eyes, Steve has always been beautiful, small and delicate or tall and strong, but he is breath-taking now; his skin flushed and muscles flexing underneath, blonde hair mussed up and one, large hand wrapped around a thick, hard cock, and Bucky can't help but want to taste, to touch. But the sounds have stopped, instead of stroking himself, Steve is fixed in place, eyes wide with shock.  
Bucky still licks his lips, still sits up and tries to make the other look at him. He refuses.

So instead, Bucky asks, with a voice so raspy and hoarse he almost doesn't recognise it himself, "Let me."  
Steve doesn't answer, doesn't say a word, so Bucky thinks maybe, hopefully, this is okay, because Steve moaned his name and is still quiet; Bucky takes his chance and wraps his own, shaking fingers around the other's cock. It feels almost familiar, the skin hot and smooth against his palm, and Bucky wants to stroke, wants to make Steve feel better than he has ever felt before. And he tries, God, he does, but Steve makes a sound that isn't soft anymore, isn't sweet, instead sounds rough and ashamed, scared, and Bucky feels his heart shrivel up in his chest, blood pounding in his ears.

This time, when Steve rushes off, he doesn't do anything to stop him, only tries not to let it hurt too much that apparently he is not the Bucky Barnes Steve wants.

Tense doesn't even cover it after that; it becomes hard to look at Steve, to touch him, and it seems to be the same for the other. Weeks pass, and nothing changes, and Bucky doesn't know how to make it change either, each word he tries out in his mind sounds wrong, so he doesn't speak it, every touch feels wrong, so he doesn't dare to raise his hand.  
But just when he thinks it's too late, it starts to get better. Slowly, yes, but surely, until Steve is smiling at him again, and Bucky dares to smile back.

Steve even apologises one late afternoon, says he is sorry, he shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have reacted that way, and Bucky tells him it's okay. After all, it is not the other's fault that he is still in love with the person Bucky will never be again.  
He still goes out and has his hair cut the next morning, hoping that somehow, that will be enough.

After the smiles, the easy banter comes back too, even if it takes a little longer, and a month after the night Bucky does not ever think about anymore, they are in the kitchen and Bucky is chucking peanuts at Steve. Of course, the other dodges them easily, but that doesn't mean it doesn't annoy him, which consequently means that it doesn't mean it's no fun for Bucky.  
"Maybe you could catch them too", he calls out with a grin, throws another peanut and watches Steve mock-glare. "With your mouth, I mean. Wouldn't that be a party trick?"

Steve rolls his eyes, mock-glares harder, and Bucky has to repress a chuckle. "You're like one of those annoying little brats which run around everywhere."  
There is a pause and Bucky uses it to throw another peanut, obviously taking Steve by surprise, because it _just_ misses him.  
"What, do I first have to bend you over the table and spank you before you stop?" There is no real anger in Steve's voice (in fact, there is no anger at all, the other's voice is still light and amused), so Bucky doesn't take him seriously. He doesn't throw another nut though, keeps the smirk on his lips and asks, "Want me over the table or the counter?"

It's a joke, nothing but that, it's stupid and Bucky knows it, but Steve's face pales, his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack; Bucky hears the apology, the _I didn't mean it like that_, ringing in his ears before Steve can even say it out-loud.

And finally, it's too much. It's one thing not being able to touch Steve like he wants him to, not being able to kiss him with as much passion as he has stored inside him, but this is different, this is Steve being uncomfortable around him and he cannot take it. So after the other has run off again, he finds Steve in another room , with eyes that are still wide and fearful, blocks the entrance and tries not to notice that the shoes on the other's feet are the ones he uses to run in the mornings, that Steve wanted to flee again.

Bucky doesn't speak for what seems an age, but it's too damned hard to find the right words; when he finally does say something, they are still not even close to what he wants. "Look, I know that I overstepped a line that night", he starts; the way Steve's face looks makes him think that maybe, it was not one, maybe he just leaped across a dozen of them at once. "I just wanted to say that it won't happen again. I get it, I do, you want… _him_, and I'm not him, just look like him, but…I don't know, don't kiss like him? Don't feel like him? So yeah…" He looks down on himself, metal arm and scarred body, a pair of feet which have waded through more blood than most people ever see. "It's okay. I don't want to take his place – well, I do want to, but I don't have to – I'd just like to have a part of you, too. Doesn't have to involve all that touching, if you don't want that, doesn't even have to involve kissing, just… something, okay? Give me something, Steve, and I'll take it and shut my mouth and be happy with it, but give me _something_."

When he has ended, Steve is still looking at him, but it's a look Bucky cannot decipher, maybe as if he was waiting for more, but it's over, it's all Bucky ever had to say. And finally, after another few painful seconds, Steve clears his throat, starts with, "You thought – you _think_ - I don't want you?"  
At least that is what it sounds like, like a question, which makes no sense to Bucky's mind; it sounds as if Steve is trying to tell him he got it all wrong.  
So he nods, and suddenly Steve, who has looked as if he was still searching words a moment ago, seems to have found them. "Oh God", he whispers, no emotion in his voice, just shock. "Oh god, you've got it all wrong, _I_ have got it all wrong. I want you, of course I do, always have, always will, god help me. They could freeze me for a million years and I'd still wake up and want you. It's just, they said that maybe..." Voice breaking, choking on air, Bucky doesn't know what is happening anymore, what he is supposed to do, because Steve seems to fight with the words on his tongue; Bucky would kiss him and swallow them whole if he only dared to. "They said it was possible, likely even, that HYDRA used you." His voice is trailing off, but Steve's eyes are on him, unwavering. "Sexually. They said they might have trained you to... I was so afraid that when you touched me, that it was them and not because you wanted to. And I couldn't have..."

Suddenly, it makes sense, all of it, the shame on Steve's face, the horror, and how he yet looked at Bucky like he was a dream come true, a fantasy he would never have thought would become reality. There are a thousand things he has to say, but for now he settles on the most important one, ignores the rest. "They never did", he says and can see a hundred thousand worries falling from the other's shoulders all at once. "They wouldn't have thought me..." _Worthy_, Bucky wants to say, because it's the closest to the truth he can think of, but doesn't, knows that the word would cause even more pain. "They wouldn't have thought I deserved it" he says instead and hopes that it hurts a little less.  
It might, because in the depth of Steve's eyes he can still see that the other thinks he deserves the world.

A few, impossibly long moments pass, and Bucky can see the other's brain working, taking in the new information and sorting it through, finding out what it means.  
"So it was just you?", Steve finally asks, and sounds as if he still cannot believe it, but a hundred times happier than before, hopeful.  
"Yeah", Bucky replies and smiles, small and gentle and warm, "Just little old me, who has had a crush on you ever since he knew that word."  
And it seems to be enough.

A week later, Bucky looks down at Steve and sees nothing but love in the other's eyes. They are soft and warm, and his own heart swells and bursts with affection, both hands laid flat out on Steve's chest to steady him as he sinks down on the other's cock. It hurts, because it's been so long, the burn something not even the almost ridiculous amount of lube Steve insisted on using can take away, but Bucky doesn't mind. In contrary, he likes it, because no matter how cheesy it sounds, it makes it more real, makes him believe it.  
A gasp escapes his parted lips when he is finally seated on Steve's lap, filled up to the point where he is surprised he can even keep breathing, and Steve answers with a moan that holds more meaning than a love letter ever could.

"You look…", Steve starts, and his voice is strained; it must be hard for him to just stay still, but he does anyway, lets Bucky adjust to the feeling and Bucky loves him a little more for it. "Beautiful, you look beautiful."  
In any situation, Bucky would laugh and chuck something at Steve's head, because _he's not a girl Steve needs to woo, thank you very much_, but right now, it makes him tremble, choke, because it's _him_ Steve sees, not the Bucky who fell, not the Winter Soldier who almost killed him; just him, and Steve still looks up at him as if he had hung the stars and sun and everything around them.

He rises, slowly, and Steve bites his lips, grips the sheets, makes the sweetest noises, and it's almost enough to make Bucky forget that it hurts. Still, he is breathing heavily, trying to relax when he lowers himself on the other's cock once more, his muscles still protesting, but Bucky ignores them, because having Steve so close, inside him, feels right. His body just needs some time catching up on that.  
He does it again, rises and falls, rises and falls, and watches Steve's face. Because he can remember –faintly but still- another version of Steve, thinner and more fragile, looking up at him with the same warmth in his eyes, and the thought makes him feel safe, makes him feel as if he was home. Which he is. Because this is home now, and Steve has always been home.

It takes a few more times until the ache starts to fade, sparks of pleasure slowly mixing with the burn and turning it sharper, but sweeter, until Bucky's legs move on their own, without him having to tell them to. His hands are still resting on Steve's chest, and he uses one of them – the living, soft, warm one, because no matter what the other says, he still isn't entirely comfortable with the other – to reach up and make Steve look at him; the other's eyes are fixed on the ceiling, as if Steve needed something to ground himself with.  
"Hey, stay with me, okay?", Bucky says and tries not to moan, tries to smile, which is so, so hard with lips parted and legs just moving him up and down Steve's cock. The other looks at him, smiles (or at least tries to, it seems it's not only hard for Bucky to do that), reaches up and grips Bucky's hips as if trying to make a point and replies, "Not going anywhere."

And Bucky grins, widely and showing more teeth than necessary, grinds down on Steve's cock a little harder, and responds with, "Then give me your best shot, big boy." Because they are in love, but they are still friends, too, still _them_, and Bucky wouldn't change that for the world.  
Steve, judging by the glint in his eyes when he uses his new strength to help Bucky rise, and then pulls him down again, doesn't either.

It's not his best shot Steve gives (because that would be harder and rougher and a completely different kind of perfect), but that doesn't matter, because it still feels so good, feels right. Not like they are made for this, not really, because there are still fingertips which press a little too harshly, there is Bucky's left leg, which is in a position that is not entirely comfortable, and a rhythm they have yet to find, but like they want this with every fibre of their being, want each other just the way they are.

Again, Bucky rises, and again Steve pulls him down onto his lap, fills him up in the most beautiful way; Bucky moans and throws his head back, rolls his hips, before he rises once more. And they do find a rhythm in the end, one which makes his toes curl and hairs stand, one which allows him to feel every inch of Steve's cock when he sinks down on it. They keep the pace slow, because there is no rush, and because Bucky likes to watch the way Steve's eyes flutter shut sometimes only to fly open again, as if he was afraid to miss even a second of this, because he can't get enough of just doing this, feeling Steve like this and knowing the other feels him all around his cock, too.  
The friction grows into the sweetest thing, sparks pleasure to dance up his spine and make his skin tingle; faintly, he is aware that he is moaning, that he is rolling his hips a little faster, a little more desperately.

It doesn't last long enough (and Bucky can remember that it never did, even before all this), but that is okay, they have all their life for rounds two to a thousand. So Bucky only reaches out to cup Steve's cheek when he feels the other's thrusts starting to falter, wraps a hand around his own erection and strokes, not in time but close enough to it. Says, "C'mon, Steve, fill me up", and has the words come out as groans and gasps; increases the force and bears down harder, makes the head of Steve's cock drag across his prostate and mewls Steve's name when he comes.  
His orgasm hits him harder than any he can remember, pleasure making his vision white out for a few, precious moments, leaving only him and Steve and nothing else in this world. When he comes back, Steve is watching him with eyes that almost take Bucky's breath away, as if the other has completely forgotten about his own release.

But Bucky hasn't, never could, and he takes care of Steve like he always did, grinds his hips down harder and gasps, because he is far too sensitive, the aftershocks not quite faded yet, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't stop until Steve is gasping and staring up at him, until the other is fucking up into him, losing himself in the sensation.  
Another few thrusts and Steve is coming; Bucky can see it in his eyes before he can feel it, hot and slick and perfect, filling him with his come. But it's more than that, at least to him, it's a claim and a mark and a promise, it's them and who they are supposed to be.

Bucky keeps rolling his hips even after Steve has stopped thrusting into him, lazily, slowly, until Steve pulls him off his cock; a little part of him is still confused that this is something Steve, small, frail Steve is able to do. Not that he is complaining, because the other pulls him close, too, turns so that they are looking at each other, Bucky's head pillowed on Steve's right arm, their legs tangled.  
_I don't deserve you_, Bucky wants to say, because it's true, and the other must be able to see it in his eyes, because he kisses him softly, his free hand cupping Bucky's cheek, one thumb stroking over his cheekbone. "You do", Steve whispers and their lips are still brushing; Bucky's heart stops for a moment and continues beating for the other and him alone.

He could say no, but he doesn't, because it really doesn't make a difference; no matter if he deserves Steve, as long as the other will have him, he'll stay. And he kisses Steve again, metal arm hesitantly rising to rest on the other's hip, wishing that he could feel the warmth, the texture of Steve's skin.  
"Okay", he says, softly and sweetly, breathes the same air as Steve does, tries to think the same thoughts.  
"Okay?", Steve repeats as a question, and smiles and hopes; Bucky leans in and kisses his cheek, kisses his jaw and lips and the tip of his nose.  
"Yeah, yeah. Okay."  
And Steve smiles as brightly as the sun and as sweetly as the ice cream they shared before, and Bucky smiles back. He's home.


End file.
